Halfway
The human mind has interesting ways of measuring and negotiating. We are fixated on the “half.” It is the easiest way to cut something in 2 and is such a versatile unit of measure. We buy things in wholes and halves; we say things like “meet me halfway” and “split the difference.” Completing a project halfway shows a level of commitment that allows us to comfortably finish the other half later, similar to how we ask people to pay for things “half now, half later.” My professors used to give us a short break halfway through a 2-hr-long lecture, which is when some would leave, proud they even showed their faces. Anybody with young children know they are adamant about being “6-and-a-half” instead of just “6.” That half year is meaningful to them. It is ingrained in us from even that age that halfway is an unmarked milestone. Parents may not have taught them the meaning of “half birthday” but somehow they mark it on their calendars. Halfway, by default, is a natural preference between 2 points or options. Combining 2 materials to make the best use of their qualities is innovative and is the reason we have many optimized products. Think about that the next time you drink an Arnold Palmer or put half-and-half in your coffee. Halfway seems to work because it signifies a point at which the remainder (of time, money, material) is equal to or less than the amount already completed, a certain balance and accomplishment.
We even make figurative measurements with “half” when we are aware somebody has potential that isn’t being used, or that something is not as good as something else. The units we are use aren’t literal, but somehow we say things like “Half-hearted attempts by half-wits who half-ass everything. Anybody with half a brain could tell they aren’t half the man their father was.” We know there is no way to measure how much of a man someone is, or for someone to walk around with half their brain removed. When someone’s cooking surprises us, we say its “not half-bad,” another unit-less measurement. We even develop half measurements of things that are not round numbers. For example, the development of Half-marathons as a stepping stone to those hoping to one day be able to run a full marathon is an important one to my life. Today millions of people run 13.1 mile races as “half marathons,” but where did that awkward number come from? As legend would have it, a Greek Messenger by the name of Pheidippides ran 26.2 miles (42.2km) from Marathon to Athens to announce the Greek victory in the Battle of Marathon, soon after collapsing and dying of fatigue.
On many of my runs, I try to go 4, 5, 6, even 10 miles out from my house, then run all the way back. The “out-and-back” method is good for measuring distance, but it’s so important for my psychology. I refuse to think a negative thought in the first half of my run. How can I say “I’m not feeling it today” or “I’m tired” on mile 4 of a 12-mile run? I haven’t even made it halfway yet. In the first half, I just think about reaching halfway, the furthest point from my house. From that point, every step I take will be back in the direction towards home. Regardless of the difficulties, at least I’m almost done. Once you pass “halfway,” you are automatically in the “almost.” Anything above 0.5 rounds to the next number, right?
Halfway is a much fixated-upon point in running. During races, I try to run a conservative first half, staying close to my overall pace goal, then in the second half I try to speed up to make up the difference and reach the time I want. The first half is just setting me up for the real race. In many sports the second half determines winners and losers. Most of the time, it isn’t good enough to play a solid first half. In many races, I have run a good first half, but my conditioning wasn’t ready to maintain or improve upon it in the second half, causing me to fall apart and come short of my goals. While looking at my splits from last NYC Marathon, I realized I ran a very strong first half, coming in around 1:50 and was in good position to complete the entire race in 3:40-3:45. The problem with that first half is that I was running a comfortable pace, but it was not sustainable for an entire 26.2-mile race. The second half tightness in muscles and inability to get my legs turning over as quickly as I wanted caused my pace to suffer. I ran the second half in 2:23, a far cry from that 1:50 first half. Any marathoner worth their shorts will tell you the real halfway point of a 26.2-mile race is mile 20. Up until that point, it’s familiar territory, your conditioning might be excellent, your race is going well. After mile 20, the unpredictable difficulties can happen: the cramps, fatigue, dehydration, energy crash. Running a good race means preparing for the entire length of the course and running well the entire time.
Now, I am at a familiar point where I can look behind with success and look ahead with confidence. I write all this to say I’m “halfway” done with chemo treatments!! Or should I say I’m “almost” done? Semantics aside, I’m closer to the end than I am to the beginning. The first half of my 18-week chemo plan doesn’t include the week that I sat home with Covid in early January. The first half was 10 calendar weeks. Hopefully I can still finish the second half in the planned 9 weeks. This unpredictable turn delayed my end date, proving once again, that in life, we can plan our weeks and clinic visits, but we have to expect the unexpected. There is no way to say that the struggle in front of me will be equal to or less than the struggle that I have already been through. Like my marathon story, I am halfway done with the medicine, but any successful performance is anchored upon the ability to finish the task and show up strong in the second half. The symptoms may be increase in number or simply be worse in severity. The drug dosage will increase as I come towards the end, which is by design of this particular chemo regimen. Every cycle’s drug dosage may increase depending on white blood cell levels and my response to the previous cycle. I still plan to run on my good days, as long as it’s safe, and hopefully above freezing temperatures.
I cannot say what the second half will look like, but the first half has prepared me well. I understand the process, I have gotten used to the changes in energy level, and I have established a list of remedies to help me deal with symptoms. I haven’t marked my calendar yet as unforeseen circumstanced may delay treatments, so I don’t even know “the day” this will be over. What I do know is that I’m on my way back home, the end is approaching, and I plan on finishing strong with the support of those around me.
